


Début

by justmariamay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aristocracy, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Diplomacy, Falling In Love, Lust at First Sight, M/M, One Night Stands, Oops, Passion, Sexual Content, Temptation, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5152379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justmariamay/pseuds/justmariamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Masquerade ball at emperial court provides many temptations, but Richard Roman has his eyes only for one person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Début

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Omano](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omano/gifts).



> It's a sin. Don't read.

Dick is bored despite the general merriment that took over the big halls of this palace. Beautiful ladies and noble gentlemen and all are hiding behind their masks, with rare exceptions. Dick himself always liked to show his teeth to everyone, so he's already ditched his mask somewhere. Among the crazy colours of the ball someone not wearing a mask too catches his eye. A ravenhaired young man in black dress uniform and red cape with marshall's star on his chest talking to the crown prince Lucifer. Leaning down to his companion's ear Dick whispers:

"Susan, the one beside our dear host... is that who I think it is?"

"Oh, I believe so, my lord," her delicate lips widen in sly grin under butterfly mask. "I've heard he's not what you'd expect."

"So it seems," agrees Dick, his eyes meeting the gaze from another end of the ballroom. Tomorrow they'll meet in much more formal setting.

They are in the middle of small talk with other ambassadors when Lord Marshall approaches them. Military bearing and quiet confidence add him stature. Polite smile. But Dick can see steel behind bright eyes, scar visible above high collar. Even if he didn't know who this man was, he'd understand that marshall star is probably well-earned. Marshall Milton obviously surprises Susan by givng her a bow and asking for a dance. When Susan hesitatingly glances at Dick, Michael adresses him:

"Mind if I steal your beautiful companion for a dance, lord ambassador?"

Dick resists telling him that he can keep her for all he cares and nods in agreement. As they walk away Susan turns her head and nods to the right. In pointed direction there is a group of two couples, men are arguing and ladies look bored. Susan and her little games... Why not, thinks Dick. He enjoyes the dumb reaction of that giant when he gives him his brand 'I'm better than you' look and asks his woman in bright red dress and fitting mask for a waltz. Of course, she gladly accepts.

Memorized movements, unchanging rhythm, some ladies coquettishly remove masks and put them back again. With a corner of his eye Dick catches green irises of Susan's partner, watchful and calculating and little bit amused. Looks like curiousity is mutual. And he isn't sure if few accidental brushs of their hands and arms were really accidental.

As Dick leaves his lovely dance partner where he took her, Susan shoves a glass of wine he hates in his hand and states:

"Balcony. Don't waste your time, my lord."

Oh, look who wants to play a matchmaker...

"And what makes you think I'm interested?"

"Oh please, you are interested one way or another," her nose wrinkling slightly, she wanted to say 'interested in every way', Dick guesses. "And with all due respect, my lord, I doubt you will be missed here."

Sometimes Dick thinks he taught her too well.

"One beautiful day I'm going to eat your sharp little tongue for breakfast, Susan," he's only half joking.

"Don't thank me yet," and with that she takes some random man under his arm and waltzes away.

Giving in to the temptation to know the probable enemy closer Dick walks to the balcony. Fresh night air smells with intoxicatingly sweet fragrance of lilacs. Wide space is empty except for a spot by the rail occupied by infamous Lord Marshall. He is absolutely not what Dick had in mind, he's even shorter than him. Putting blasted glass on the rail he starts testing waters.

"You are not exactly what I imagined you to be, Lord Marshall," Dick says instead of proper greeting.

"How so, lord Roman?"

"From what people say, I thought you would be three meters tall with tail, horns and fire breath," that's pretty much sums up Marshall Milton's reputation. Battle at the Hellgate became a legend and he - a monster of that legend.

Youthful laughter that follows makes even more contrast with what this man is supposed to be. Dick saw the looks young Marshall's been getting in ballroom and they ranged from respect to terror and utter disgust.

"That bad, huh? Well, don't be offended, but from what I heard about you, I imagined a short bald old geezer, who can make the Devil himself sell his soul for a half-kopeck. I guess we are both disapointed."

"Quite the contrary. And part about the Devil is true," diplomacy is Dick's forte, that's no secret. But lately he haven't had a foeman worthy of his 'steel', he just crushes everyone with charisma and supremacy. "I always get what I want," he says softer, coming closer, violating all the decencies and not caring about being caught.

Lord Marshall doesn't seem offended or uncomfortable, only more amused.

"That's a bold claim, my lord."

"But not a mere assertion," Dick confidently insists.

"Ah, if so... In half an hour guards in my wing will take a short unplanned break."

Michael Milton, the defeator of legions, puts a finger on his lips, then on Dick's, promising a lot more to come if Dick is brave enough to come and take it.

So he has 30 minutes to learn where is the room and get there. Hah. The task is ridiculously easy, but Dick is not about to complain.

Back in the hall he finds Susan to bide her "good night". And to borrow her hairpin. Who knows how many lock doors he'll run into.

As he walks mostly empty corridors Dick thinks that stupid mask could come handy, but it wouldn't do much difference.

The only door that's locked is the door to lord Marshall's chambers. Well, if he changed his mind, he can tell that in person

His final destination for this night greets him with pleasant and warm scent of wood, dim lights and measured choice of colours. Wall to the right is all bookshelves, on the left a world map hangs and there is doorway to an adjoining room. A bedroom Dick guesses. Also there are two armchairs and a chesstable between them. Heavy drapes are closed. Wide table by the window is covered in papers in disarray. No. Not exactly. Some papers are neatly stacked. Lord Marshall is standing there examining his mail or so it seems. Then he turns to Dick.

"Very punctual. At least you don't walk through the walls," his host smiles at him.

Dick bolts the door shut and smiles back.

"No need to walk through walls, when there are doors."

"Indeed. Get comfortable, I'll be at your disposal in a minute," and he is back into reading the letter.

Well, Dick doesn't need to be told twice. He looses his tie and then decides to get rid of it, as of the suit coat, because he started to get just a little sweaty, either from high temperature in the room, either from... no, of course not. He hangs his things on the chair back, then watches the series of rather amusing expressions on brunet's profile.

"Something interesting?" Dick decides to ask as he comes nearer.

"No. Unless you want to learn all kinds of swearing in our language," Marshall Milton folds the paper in two, puts it aside and turns to face Dick who replies:

"Oh, I assure you, I acquired that important knowledge long ago," it's not even a joke.

With corner of his eyes Dick notices the addresser's name. The Spymaster Zachariah Milton, the one who claimed Michael Milton as his son. Though most popular rumor after the one where Marshall is considered a son of dragon (or something like that) is that he is Emperor Charles' bastard. Court machinations, how trivial. Dick is more interested in what happens now.

"So, my lo..." he starts but is interrupted.

"Michael. Let's leave titles to the court. I get sick of them by the end of the day," a predicament Dick is very familiar with.

"Michael then," agrees Dick, liking how simple yet graceful the name tastes.

"Richard?" tries Michael his first name.

Dick chuckles:

"Nobody calls me Richard."

"I'm sure they have their reason and I'll dismiss the fact you've just called me nobody," Michael's smile is the most earnest thing Dick has seen for this evening, if not for his whole life.

Michael raises his hand to Dick's face, but it stops inches away. And this little gesture reveals another side of almighty general. Something almost shy, insecure and (Dick isn't afraid to use the word) innocent. It's a strange word to describe a soldier, who has a reputation of a monster.

Dick makes the move, he takes that hand and surprises Michael by kissing his scarred knuckles in course, one by one. Then he turned the hand and moved his lips to wrist, right where the pulse is vibrating and let them linger there. He meant to let go, but instead he practically leached his mouth to this spot. Michael tastes different from anything Dick ever had (and he had a lot) and he wants more, wants to feel every note on his tongue. He almost forgets himself until fingers bury in his hair and nails lightly scrap at his scalp. A little pressure to the nap of his neck and he opens his eyes to meet two green glimmers reflecting his desire. Pale skin has become flushed and impossibly hot. They pull each other closer and don't waste much time to join their mouths in not very tender kiss. There is a hint of that stupid wine and hell if it doesn't go straight into Dick's head. But even without it, it seems like he left his ability to think clearly behind the door. His partner on the other hand hasn't completely let his guard down judging by tension filling his body everywhere Dick can feel it. But Michael doesn't resist when he pushes him back to sit on the edge table and Dick is suddenly reminded that he has to breath. What a nuisance.

His hands find firm thighs and Michael lets out a breathless laugh and to his surprise Dick hears himself joining. Awkward laughter, really? Are they adults who know what they want or lovestruck teenagers? To distract himself from such ridiculous thoughts he leans down and kisses down that scar on Michael's neck. Nimble fingers start undoing buttons on his shirt and Dick takes it as invitation to just rip Lord Marshall's white crisp shirt open so that perlies are detached and fall down making small noises across the floor and table.

"Rude," notes Michael out of breath. But Dick doesn't listen too busy examining scars mapping white chest and stomach.

Dick senses how he stills under his gaze and under his touch, so he hurries to make it obvious that he doesn't mind at all.

"Impressive," he says kissing the edge of one of them on Michael's shoulder. Really it is him who should feel inadequate, for he can't boast much about his body.

"Is it? You've got some yourself," Michael presses his thumb into bullet scar under Dick's collarbone, then pulls Dick's shirt from his shoulders, who lets it slide down to the floor.

"I'm more of a duelist than a soldier."

"Do you fight to the first blood or to death?" Michael asks curiously when he finds another scar on the left side.

"Let's just say, I don't stop half a way," replies Dick.

"Well, that's a very diplomatic way of speaking," Michael's smile grows wider. Dick doesn't care much if he smiles because Dick killed all of his unfortunate opponents or because another meaning of his phrase.

Dick leans to Michael's ear and speaks softly.

"Now I'm going to be very straightforward," as much as he can get anyway. "I always prefer to be on top, but I'm more than willing to make an exception for you, Lord Marshall."

"I..." Michael stutters when Dick licks along his ear.

"Hmm?"

"You are devious, Richard," Dick is sure it's a compliment.

Dick hasn't had a partner he wanted to please this much for ages. Right at the moment he wants to forget that time exists. And he does when other's lips find his. Michael shifts on the table and wraps his legs around Dick's hips. These thighs can easily crash his ribcage but Dick is more preoccupied with how evident their mutual arousal is to each other. And yet this kiss somehow is a little more tempered than the previous one. More sensual. More intimate and open, without clanking teeth and bumping noses. Hands don't wander randomly, but caress and hold. Like they haven't kissed only once before. With skin to skin the heat is growing rapidly. Dick presses further laying Michael down on table. Kiss is broken but their lips are still touching sharing the air.Collecting himself the best he can Dick asks:

"So what is it, Michael? Do you want to proceed from here? Or do you want us to go to bed and do things your way?" Either suits Dick just fine, but he needs to know which.

"The night is far from over, can't it be both?" And who is devious, Dick wonders. "And I really want to ruin at least part of my paperwork. After all... I'm used to more physical activities."

"I think it can be arranged," to prove the point he bites at the base of Michael's neck and once again feels his partner's pulse vibrating against his tongue. Savouring this sensation, Dick starts skilfully unbuttoning Marshall's quite tight pants. And oh...

"Habit," explains Michael awkwardly. "There is no luxury up the line, even such simple one."

"I'm not judging," assures Dick and palms hard curve of Michael's erection reveling in hot breath coming out in gasps.

Michael arches into him and Dick has to remind himself not to bite his neck, because, alas, they are both public figures and Dick knows to respect that. But damn if his selfcontrol hasn't been compromised as soon as he entered this room.

Dick closes his hand around Michael's leaking shaft and Michael swallows a moan. Dick loves the way the muscles flex, changing the picture of scars, how Michael squeezes his eyes shut with his mouth opened so slightly. Dick leans down and starts teasing his ear with his tongue again and biting not too gently. Such little noises he makes, Dick wouldn't notice. And how he clings to him... Michael coming undone is worth all his efforts.

"Richard..." Michael gasps when Dick gives one final stroke.

Dick ignores his own needs, for now satisfied with sight of Michael spread out on his table, so vulnerable in his afterglow. This image is added in puzzle Dick continues to collect. He also notices they tipped over an inkpot. Ah, well... Making sure that Michael watches he licks his fingers clean. And yes, Michael does taste as good as he hoped, if not better. Salt and bitterness, balanced as he himself is when he isn't at Dick's mercy.

He helps Michael up and nods towards the dark doorway. Michael bites his lip, takes Dick by the hand and leads him there. On the way he switches off lights. Shame, but understandable.

In the bedroom they get rid of rest of their clothes and tumble on Michael's not so wide, not so soft bed. They giggle stupid over Dick'r freezing cold feet, like no people of their age should (sure Michael should be about a decade or less younger, still it's mid twenties).

Dick finds Michael's weight on him comfy and enjoyable, which doesn't happen to him often. Funny that Michael isn't his type so to speak, but so far Dick couldn't find anything that he doesn't like about him. Which should be worrisome.

Strong scent of gun oil hit his nose and Michael apologizes again:

"Sorry for that, I really haven't expected guests this night."

"I don't mind. In fact, I love it," Dick whispers. What he doesn't like is his overexcitement that is only partly physical. It's like his mind is clearing and he starts realizing what he got himself into, not for long though.

Michael is gentle with him, unfairly so. But Dick can't find it in him to prompt Michael to be quick. Michael works him open slowly. Careful fingers, soothing kisses, he treats Dick too good. Dick in his turn makes more bruises where he can reach but where no one would see, Michael's taste drives him crazy. Dick feels him hardening against his thigh. Anticipation is a blissful torture. He almost misses:  
"Which way do you like it?"

In the dark Michael's eyes seem bigger. Dick catches himself thinking how pretty they would shine in the daylight. Is this a heat of the moment? Or is he tip-toeing on the point of no return? Unable to bear it he turns on his stomach and commands hoarsely:

"Michael."

His partner enters him with ease and gives him time to adjust and he does need it. But the pace he builds soon enough is maybe a little too much. Dick reaches for his left hand and covers it with his, it gives him some ground and he starts meeting Michael's thrusts. Soon enough Michael brushes that special spot every time he pushes into. Dick has to repress his voice, it's just unspoken etiquette on such trysts.

As Michael's chest moves along his spine he can feel ridges of scars brushing his skin. Michael says something before reaching corner of his mouth with lips, but Dick is too far gone to remember words of foreign language. It's rare occurrence and in some circumstances would be unforgivable. He is drowning in pleasure and forgets how to breath. Michael doesn't lose pace though his breath becomes ragged and noisy.  
The friction of sheets is good but Dick wants more. He lifts himself enough to touch himself but Michael beats him to it.

Rough hand a bit softened by the oil feels perfect. Just few forceful strokes and Dick is giving in. Michael finishes Dick almost too soon and yet he doubts he could take it any longer. Dick bites the pillow when his release comes, it's blinding. He buries his face in the soft fabric letting himself seconds of pure pleasant nothingness. It takes some time to catch his breath and flow of his thoughts. Michael breaths into his neck, steadily now, his hands caress his sides and Dick realizes that Michael hasn't come inside him. Considering, it's very thoughtful of him, but Dick is... disappointed? Shaking away dumb ideas, Dick turns on his back and tugs Michael into another kiss.

After cleaning with cold washcloth they hide under the blanket. They don't fall asleep, they can't risk it. But they lie close, legs entwined, half-lidded eyes locked.

"I'm really glad you accepted my offer, Richard."

"Only fool would refuse."

"Even fools avoid such attention from me," it doesn't sound like a joke. "And honestly, I prefer smart company."

"Then what it makes me?" teases Dick.

Michael actually blushes and the sight worth not pressing him for the answer.

When grayish light comes through the curtains, Dick is surprised he is still here. He should have left when he got what he came here for. It isn't like him. Instead, Dick counts red and purple bruises he left on that most perfectly flawed skin. But he fights the sweet illusion that any of this could be his.

"Why are you staring like that?" Michael's smile is a little nervous, not an expression Dick could expect from him.

At first he wants to say that his bedhead looks funny. It really does, but...

"I wonder how I can thank you," Dick says quietly.

"For what?" Michael asks even more softly.

For what, echoes in his mind. That's a question. For this night? For being just divine? Or for what they'll never have? Like thanking sun for shining above someone else's head. Dick chuckles a little bitterly and replies:

"You know for what."

He plants kiss to Michael's temple and gets out of cozy bed. He walks out of the bedroom to gather his clothes and hears Michael slipping out of bed as well. He dresses quickly, and hangs his coat and tie on his arm, because it would be ridiculous to wear it so early in the morning.

Dick looks at the chesstable. Pieces on board indicate that the game wasn't finished. He wonders, who could be Michael's partner.

Dick picks up the black queen saving the white king from check. It's cold and heavy, carved from black marble. Beautiful and most dangerous on the chessboard, what every common pawn strives to become. He looks back and sees white fabric hiding broad shoulders and scars. Without thinking he slips the piece into his pocket.

When Michael turns Dick pretends to be examining his book collections. But his mind is somewhere else, he can't focus his eyes, they wander, until strong arms wrap around his middle. Dick has to suppress the shudder. He feels lips pressed to his shoulder through thin silk of his shirt.

"Shall we go?" the voice is calming, but sounds as unsure as Dick's thoughts.

Well, it's time. He can make it through. But as he turns in Michael's arms he starts doubting it. He is at loss for words. He! But all Dick can do to make up for silence is hug Michael back and revel in his lover's warmth.

Michael rests head on his shoulder.

"You already regret it, don't you, Richard?"

"I don't know," admits Dick. "I... I don't think I have any right to. What about you, Michael?"

Michael just shakes his head letting black strands fall on his face and leans to plant a kiss to the corner of Dick's mouth. The last one. It better be the last one.

"Let's go then," finally resolves Dick and forces himself away from Michael and his heat.

Their steps are careful and very quiet, to not disturb still sleeping world. They don't speak until it's time to part ways, time to start the masquerade again.

"Looking forward seeing you today, Lord Roman."

"Likewise, Lord Marshall."

Their sleeves brush one last time and they go in separate directions. Light starts pouring from windows. Halls and corridors are empty at this hour. Susan is up and meets him in his room having everything prepared for upcoming negotiations. After this long (but not long enough) and crazy night Dick can't decide if he wants to kiss or strangle his assistant. As if reading his mind Susan shoots him a look of sympathy.

"The night has been bad or too good?" she inquires.

"My dear Susan, when will you finally learn to mind your own business?" the question is rhetorical.

"Not while I work for you, my lord, that's for sure."

She's right of course. It is their job to mind everyone's business, tell secrets and keep secrets, exchange words meaning to wound or even kill. Single scratch of a pen and nations can fall or unite. He has no right to lose his spirit over his own problems. Yes, he's an egoist, but that's until higher purpose is concerned. Dick squeezes the heavy chess piece in his hand and mentally prepares for the torture that is seeing Michael but not being able to touch him. Maybe never again.

_The End?_


End file.
